After that, Órlaith lost track of time.

She slept, sometimes; she ate, the rare times food appeared. It seemed to mostly show up when she was resting, and she never saw who brought it or how it got there. The one time she tried to stay awake to see, in case she might be able to escape, the food never arrived. In the end, Órlaith gave in to both exhaustion and hunger. When she woke, the food was there.

Not that there was ever much of it. Órlaith knew she wasn’t eating enough, or drinking enough; she could feel it in the way she grew weaker and weaker, slowly at first and then more rapidly. It was enough to keep her alive, but only just.

Once they had softened her up enough with the lack of food, the real cruelty began. Órlaith drifted, for most of it. They might break her eventually, but she wouldn’t make it easy. And the simplest way to make things difficult for them was to simply not be there. She spent most of her time in a half-aware daze, truly stirring only when she was certain she was safely back in her cell.

And wasn’t that ironic, that she thought of a cell as safe now.

Órlaith sighed, picking at the last remnants of that day’s meal. She liked to make them last when she could. Stretching out the food gave the illusion of more than one meal a day.

When she was finished, she dragged herself to her feet, and stumbled through a few laps of the cell, leaning heavily on the wall. It was a strain, and maybe not the best use of her limited energy. But if she had the chance – and Órlaith knew it had to happen eventually, she couldn’t let herself think otherwise – then she would need to be able to move – to run, if she could. Adrenaline and fear would help her then, but she was doing her best to keep her body vaguely functional as well.

She slumped back down to the floor of the cell, exhausted just from that.

Every day was the same. Not that she could really differentiate between days, trapped down here. Wake, be escorted away by masked guards, drift, return to her cell. Exercise a little, and eat, if she was lucky. She couldn’t explore her magic, couldn’t investigate anything, couldn’t talk to anyone.

Honestly, when Órlaith had thought she was bored in the Peak Academy... Part of her wished she could go back and slap her past self, tell her how lucky she had it. No matter how dull it had seemed at the time.

There were still the carvings on the cell floor to trace, of course. At this point, they were familiar to Órlaith. She didn’t need light to trace them – which was lucky, because the lighting in the cell came from no identifiable source, and seemed to flicker on and off at random. It was probably some way to try and stop her keeping track of time, or maybe interfere with her sleep.

Órlaith ran her fingers along one of the carved lines, for the umpteenth time.

If she could only understand them. If she could somehow figure out what they meant, how they were stopping her from reaching her magic. Maybe then she could break through them somehow, try and break one of the lines.

Of course, she’d already been trying that for a while. Her nails were brittle and ragged, but still Órlaith pressed the nail of her thumb into the faint groove she’d already worn, and began to scrape it back and forth. It was making very little difference, the groove being worn into the floor so slowly that it would probably never get deep enough to make any difference. And Órlaith didn’t even know if this line of the carving had any meaning. For all she could tell, it might only be one or two lines that meant anything, and the rest were for decoration.

But it was something to do. Something to keep her busy, give her a purpose. So Órlaith kept doing it, scratching at the line whenever she had the chance, even as she cringed at the sensation of it.

She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, pulling her hand away. The last thing she wanted was to be caught.

Órlaith frowned. Something wasn’t right.

Usually, footsteps meant someone coming to fetch her. Several someones, guards escorting her away to whatever Anwen had decided to try on her next. The footsteps were never alone, not since Leolin had visited her. And the footsteps never hesitated. Not like they were doing now.

They were soft, too. Not like the heavy, solid strides of the guards, with their sturdy boots (Órlaith had tried stamping on their feet and making a break for it once, in the early days of her captivity; it had been a mistake). Almost nervous.

Órlaith sat up as straight as she could, ignoring her exhaustion and hunger, ignoring the aches in her body. She craned her head, trying to see – it was futile, given the layout of the prison. She could never make out anything until someone was right in front of her cell. Still, she leaned forward, sideways, tried to work out what was going on.

Then the person took a few more steps, coming into Órlaith’s field of view, and Órlaith’s eyes widened.

“Fiona?”

Fiona jerked, glancing around, and pressed a finger to her lips quickly.

“Shh,” she hissed. “Don’t – we can’t draw attention. This is the last chance.”

“Last chance for what?” Órlaith asked, keeping her voice low. Her heart had begun to pound. What was this? Was it – Órlaith didn’t quite dare hope – was it some kind of rescue?

“They figured it out,” Fiona said, stepping closer to the bars of the cell. “How to bend a mind without breaking it. Leolin did it – he wanted to work it out. For you.”

Órlaith swallowed against the nausea that rushed through her at that. For her? She didn’t want Fiona to be implying what Órlaith thought she was. And yet...

“Tomorrow, they’re going to do it,” Fiona continued, glancing around again. “Take away your free will. Make you into a puppet. This is our last chance to get you out of here, Órlaith.”

“Why?” Órlaith asked, wary despite the sudden frantic need to get out. “I thought you were loyal to the City, Fiona. Why are you down here now?”

“I was loyal,” Fiona said simply. “Up until about five years ago, when I was recruited.” She looked away. “I had a brother, in the outside world. I remembered him, still. I remembered what happened to us. I just didn’t realise until I got older that -” Fiona cut herself off. “I was useful to the City. My brother wasn’t. They told me they couldn’t save him, but...”

“I’m sorry,” Órlaith said. Fiona shook her head.

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “But it meant I realised... Anyway. We need to go, Órlaith. Whilst we can.”

“Wait,” Órlaith said. “Go where?” She frowned. “And you said you were recruited – by who?” Escaping was one thing. But Órlaith would rather know if she was about to leap out of the frying-pan and into the fire.

“Who do you think?” Fiona asked, looking at her. “Who works against the City? Don’t say his name,” she added. “We aren’t sure if they have ways to detect it. But I promise, it’s safe.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice either way,” Órlaith murmured. The initial rush of adrenaline at the prospect of escape was fading already, leaving Órlaith more exhausted than before. “All right. I’ll go with you.”

The bars faded away, and Fiona sighed in relief. “I was worried that wouldn’t work,” she muttered. “Can you walk?”

“Maybe,” Órlaith said, and used the wall to pull herself to standing. She took a few wobbly steps, and had to catch herself against the wall. “Sort of. Not really.” She grimaced.

Fiona nodded. “It’s been six weeks. That’s okay, I’ll help you.” She stepped forward, reaching for Órlaith.

Órlaith flinched, heart speeding up, battering rabbitlike in her chest. She barely kept her breathing calm.

Fiona paused. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, then shut it again, glancing between Órlaith and the door.

“Sorry,” Órlaith said after a moment. “Sorry, just... now. Now is okay.”

This time, when Fiona pulled Órlaith’s arm over her shoulders, Órlaith managed not to flinch away. It was a near thing, though. She wasn’t sure how much of it was reasonable wariness at the sudden movement, and how much was... well. The past six weeks, if Fiona was right about how long it had been.

It had felt longer.

They stumbled up the stairs together. Slower than they should have been, if Fiona’s anxious glances up were any indication. Órlaith tried to move faster, but there was only so much she could do. Her body just didn’t have the strength; she could barely even drag herself up the stairs, let alone do it quickly. If it weren’t for Fiona supporting her, half-carrying her most of the time, Órlaith probably wouldn’t have made it to the top at all.

Órlaith barely realised when they reached the top. The only thing that alerted her was lifting a foot to take the next step, and finding the ground far lower than she expected it to be.

“Come on,” Fiona murmured, nearly dragging her along. Órlaith struggled to focus on where they were going, where they were. In the City, still, but a part of it she didn’t recognise. In fact, she almost didn’t recognise that they were in the City at all – it was far dingier, more dilapidated. Apparently this was where the City hid their rejects, anything that didn’t fit with the image they wanted to create.

Fiona stopped abruptly, and Órlaith nearly fell. She looked around. Was there a problem? A threat?

“This is as far as I can go,” Fiona told her. “I’m sorry, but they need me here still, to pass information on. I have to stay. All you need to do is get out of the City. You’re almost there – it’s just a few more streets. Follow the signs like this.” She traced a symbol into Órlaith’s palm. “The gate will let you pass, and then you’ll be in the valley. Just keep going, and they’ll find you. It’ll be okay.”

Órlaith nodded. Fiona murmured a goodbye, and then she was gone, leaving Órlaith slumped half-upright against a wall.

For a moment, Órlaith thought about just letting herself slide to the ground. Falling asleep right here and now, hoping she didn’t get caught. Or even just letting herself get caught, letting them change her mind. Wouldn’t it be easier than this? Wouldn’t it be easier, simpler, to just give in, become whatever it was they wanted her to be? She’d have a place to belong, then. Just like she had wanted.

She wouldn’t, though. Because it wouldn’t be her belonging. Not really. It would be whatever facsimile of Órlaith they created. Not her.

Órlaith took in a shuddering breath, and forced herself to stand up.

She followed the streets Fiona had said. Looked for the symbols, oddly similar to the one on that book of Aneirin’s so long ago now. Órlaith kept moving, and hoped that nobody was following her. She didn’t have the energy to keep an eye out. Everything she had was going into moving.

Then she saw it. The gate. Just as Fiona had promised.

It was nothing compared to the City’s main gate. Where that had been grandiose, designed to be seen from across the bridge, this was tiny. A little wooden thing, half-rotten, barely noticeable where it was tucked into the shadows.

Órlaith stumbled over and leaned against it. The gate swung open without a squeak.

And then she was outside the City. For the first time in – how long had it even been?

With the shock of being outside came the shock of memories.

Órlaith had thought about it whilst she was locked up. That vague fear that had occurred to her when she spoke to Leolin, the realisation she hadn’t had time to examine before being called before Anwen and Emyr – no, she hadn’t even thought of examining it. She had certainly had time.

The City had been suppressing her memories. Not all of them, and not completely. But anything about the outside world, anything that might make her question the City... Órlaith hadn’t thought of it, any of it, unless something had explicitly reminded her.

She had half-forgotten the caravan. Had half-forgotten how she’d grown up, the people she had cared about. The grief, when they had died.

And now it was all coming back again, twice as strong for the time it had been suppressed.

Her magic was there, too. But it was nothing next to the memories.

Órlaith let out a choked sob. Then she forced it away. Forced the memories back down. She didn’t have time. She couldn’t. Not here, not now.

Later. When she was safe – truly safe. Later, she would weep. Later, she would grieve.

It wasn’t the first time she’d promised herself that. But this time, she intended to hold herself to it. Just so long as where she was going was as safe as Fiona had promised.

Órlaith looked out at the valley, the landscape she’d seen once before, before they had crossed the bridge. It was just as empty as it had seemed from up there. Grass, a few bushes and trees, but nothing else. No animals, no insects. No sign of any other people, or whoever was supposed to find her.

She started walking.

Órlaith lost track of time again very quickly. Her world shrunk down to the repetitive motion of dragging one foot in front of the other, nothing else. She was lucky the grass was smooth, free of rocks. Navigating any more difficult terrain would be far beyond her right now.

The sun was high above her. That was strange. Hadn’t it seemed dim earlier, like it was evening? Órlaith didn’t know, couldn’t remember. The sun was high now, and it stayed that way. Maybe it was always high in the sky, here.

Órlaith kept walking.

She didn’t know how long she could do this.

At some point, her legs gave out. She stumbled, fell to the ground. Órlaith lay there for a moment, limp on the grass. Then she dragged herself to her feet – or tried to. She couldn’t; her legs wouldn’t bear her weight.

So she crawled. Away from the City. Hopefully towards safety, towards Gwydion – because it had to be. Who else could have recruited Fiona? Órlaith had realised, back in that cell, and she had known for certain when Fiona told her not to say his name. Maybe he had been telling the truth, when he’d confronted her and Leolin.

Maybe she was going from one prison to another. But at least this one might let her keep her own mind.

She was burning. With no protection from the sun, it was scorching her skin, pale from weeks locked away underground. It hurt, enough that she knew she must have been in the sun for hours. Still, she kept moving. Kept pulling herself along through the grass.

“Shit,” an unfamiliar voice muttered. Órlaith blinked, and thought about looking up. It would take too much energy, she decided. She kept going. “No, wait, don’t – damn it, Fiona, this wasn’t what -” A hand came down on Órlaith’s shoulder, and she cringed away. “Damn it.”

Whoever it was crouched down in front of Órlaith. She looked vaguely familiar. The woman who had been with Gwydion? Órlaith stared at her blankly.

“Are you with me right now?” the woman asked. Órlaith considered that.

Apparently she considered it for too long, because the woman grimaced.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Should’ve gotten you out of there earlier. Alright. Not long, then you can rest, kid. Gonna have to pick you up.”

And she did, lifting Órlaith and slinging her over her shoulder as though Órlaith weighed nothing. The motion brought spots to Órlaith’s eyes, and it was as she blinked them away that she felt the rush of magic – powerful, unfamiliar, nothing like Leolin’s or Anwen’s or even her own.

Then they were somewhere else.

“-train them better, should never have sent her off into the valley like this!” the woman holding her was snapping. A quieter male voice was replying, too soft for Órlaith to really understand. A curse from the woman holding Órlaith, and then she was moving, sliding Órlaith off her shoulder and setting her on her feet.

Which was, really, a mistake.

The last thing Órlaith saw before she lost consciousness was Gwydion, moving to catch her as she fell.

The last thing she heard was a soft murmur.

“Safe, now. Rest.”